Category: Music Set To Poetry

So, What’s Your Sign?

I am a mob of one on the flash
A pulmonary conviction
The membrane of your choice

I am the Matador, Sinewy Eros
Entangling horns as they come
Nearer to thee than the moon
Dear Gaia

I am millions of deities rolled into One
A lozenge, a salve, a breath mint

As a harpsichord I traipse the body luscious
The perennial you plant
Every year hoping

Ground-breaking rip-roaring shattered

Jagged shards, Green clovers, Pink moons
Lucky charms and amulets
Around your ankles and thighs
Tigers and bears

Oh my!

Chagall 2015

The most haunting sound.

Whenever I lament the state of the world, I listen to the song of Kauaʻi ʻŌʻō. Put some headphones on and listen to this very short clip. I promise, you will not be disappointed.

Love to you all. Have a great weekend. —Carlos C.

Listen to the haunting song of the Kauaʻi ʻŌʻō, presumed extinct since 1985. Headphones recommended to fully appreciate the rhythm, tenor, tones, and intervals, of the bird’s song. This is the bird at night.

I believe this is the only known footage of the bird:

See here for additional recordings and to browse the wonderful collection of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Macaulay Library

Again, farewell Kauaʻi ʻŌʻō.


You Just Know

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She panicked and said that the mix was too dry
I could tell she’d not worked many doughs

© Chagall 2014


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Just as song the words flow
in time, gating the sense.

To know is
in the making.

The interval is not known
until the second tone.

© Chagall 2014

Twin Souls

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In a dream, she calls to me from outside.
It’s just before the darkness settles in,
the final rays of sunlight still the trees,
the day retains its heat, promising night.

I open the window and wave to her,
this Juliet fair at my balcony,
gently nudge my body forward then down
floating slowly to the ground beside her.

Her face, beautifully lit, supernatural
in bold relief against the black empty.
She is so close, she eclipses the world;
as we meld we do not pass but are one.

I am her for the moment so I feel
the love for me I as she has for him,
turns us still deeper inward till again
there is no separation; there’s no need.

© Chagall 2014

The Recipe

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Sweeten it first
then chill it down

© Chagall 2014

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When I was small you took my hand, led me to distant places
around the corner and up the block

You carried me so I grew to know
the spiral of your ear and the curls about it

Your smelled of taffy, salt, and wind,
as a newborn I’d mistake that for the contour of your cheek

Senses ran together then
before words but after sound

once upon a time

© Chagall 2014


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I think the bus ride made it more deadbeat,
or maybe the air brakes provided downbeat each stop –
each time someone tripped the ripcord and let go the ring
and the driver would pull his lever to release the doors to allow the exit
late in the evenings when day was just about done save for the last strong glow
of orange sun atop rooftops and spires, where the harsher shadows would never dare
to alight, where early dreamers could already be seen floating on air
souls akimbo bathing in aqueducts of cool breeze, brisk wind really
whipping about, inverting – sault-somering freefall
down to the street below to the windshields
of city buses toting us home to the love.

© Chagall 2014

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I hold and adore this day
as if it was the final rendering
of the thing we call “day” –
a perfect example of a perfect example
of the divine concepts we conjure
as humans here on the ground, under sun,
sky, planets, and low-flying slow-flying planes.

© Chagall 2014

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I’ve heard field recordings of sung-gospel
under winter stars; unable to shake
the marvel of that sound, I’m alive again
in frosted air, I revel in icy tears.

© Chagall 2014

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